Quite outside of any conscious intent, my mind just cast Nick Johnson as Gilligan to my Skipper.
This is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.
***
H-MEN #1.7...
...is almost ready. I will never give a piece a title Ward dislikes EVER AGAIN.
***
MY LAST POST...
...was so blindingly brilliant and insightful that the person it was written in response to is giving me a t-shirt. I should ramble on about stuff I know nothing about more often, save a few bucks on my wardrobe.
(That's a joke. As anyone who read THE WHISPER OF MY SOUL can attest, my wardrobe budget can be found between the cushions of a homeless person's couch.)
***
SPRING CLEANING
Had the latest in a series of sporadic organizing/cleaning sprees this weekend. Primed the recently drywalled half of the basement, cleared a lot of clutter out of the office (part of which will end up in part of the recently primed basement, which is looking increasingly likely to turn into some kind of studio space for me), and generally didn't get a whole lot done this weekend outside of thinking a lot about an idea that's almost but just NOT QUITE coming together, and several ideas that aren't coming together at all. In the absence of pressing creative engagements, I'm casting about, looking for the Next Big Thing to concentrate on.
I hate this part of the process.
A
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